But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. It must be the dawn creeping in. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. Wood, disdainfully. I am going up to dine with my sister. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly.
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